


i got so scared (and i know i was wrong)

by abrae



Series: in between days [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mention of Possible Miscarriage, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-10
Updated: 2014-10-10
Packaged: 2018-02-20 14:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2431982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrae/pseuds/abrae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second of three fill-in-the-blank ficlets that look at the immediate aftermath of Sherlock's shooting of Magnussen, from John's, Mary's, and Sherlock's perspectives, respectively.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i got so scared (and i know i was wrong)

**Author's Note:**

> wiggleofjudas prompted rain, wool, blood

** December 27, 2014 **

  
"John."

John looks up from his chair in the front room to find Mary clutching the door jamb with one hand and her belly with the other. Her face is ashen in the dim light of a rainy day.

"What's happened?" he asks urgently, jumping to his feet to lead her to the sofa. She eases down to the cushion, gripping John's hand for support, then looks up at him with eyes clouded by a mix of frustration and terror.

"I'm bleeding," she says bluntly. John takes her wrist in his hand to measure her pulse, the doctor warring with the husband.

"How much?" he asks, swiping the back of his hand across her forehead. 

"Just spotting, but -" 

When Mary meets John's eyes again, the fear has gained more ground.

John rises and leaves the room, grabbing his mobile from where it sits on the table by the door. He's already speaking with the midwife when he returns, and a hot flash of ire courses through Mary's body - directed where, she can't say. She hates this bloody vulnerability, hates the weird symbiosis of pregnancy, and for one dismaying moment she utterly despises John's quietly desperate attempts to make it better when there's nothing he can do. 

Mary rests her hands on either side of her belly, closes her eyes and turns her concentration inwards, breathing in and out, in and out - a slow, conscious pattern she's learnt not in birthing classes, for which she has no patience in any event, but at the feet of more clandestine mentors. 

"Right," John says from the corridor after a few minutes, breaking her concentration. She opens her eyes to find him standing in the doorway with her red wool coat in hand, already wearing his own black jacket. "We're going to go for a scan, all right?"

Mary nods and begins to rise, her fingers white as they clutch the armrest of the sofa for support. It takes John but two steps to come up alongside her, slipping his arm around her to help her rise. A muscle tightens in her lower abdomen when she straightens too quickly, and Mary gasps in pain, bending slightly at the waist to ease the pull; it happens from time to time, though she's never mentioned it to John.

"Mary?" John says, a faint tremor of fear in his voice. She shakes her head, takes a deep breath, and straightens slowly. 

"I'm fine, it's okay." Mary clambers into her coat, then begins the slow waddle towards the door, her hand pressed firmly to the too-tight muscle. "You okay to drive?" she asks, taking the keys off the hook on the wall and tossing them to her husband.

"Yeah, fine," John answers, though he misses the catch. He bends to swipe them off the floor, then follows her out, locking the door behind them.

When the panic has passed, when they've received a reassurance only technology can give _(it sometimes happens in the last trimester, the midwife explains, but let me know if you have cramping),_ after they've arrived home and Mary's gone upstairs to rest - only then does she close her eyes to see dark, viscous blood spreading out over a blinding white expanse. Mary's never been sentimental, but she has an assassin's superstition, and she can't shake the feeling that this is retribution - blood taken for blood spilt. 

And for the first time in a lifetime of studied remorselessness, she allows regret to come.


End file.
